Forbidden Desire & Salvation
by femme11fatale
Summary: Set after Mockingjay, years later, Gale and Katniss finally meet again. Can they move forward from Prim? Can romance blossom between them? Can Katniss forgive Gale? Can they regain their friendship? What about Peeta? Gale/Katniss Romance. Re-running this after some time. All comments/reviews welcome.
1. New Beginnings

**Hi**

 **This story takes place post-Mockingjay. Canon references throughout to HG, CF and MJ but as always, pure fantasy!**

 **The story will alternate from Katniss/Peeta and Gale's POV. Any comments or reviews are welcome and would be appreciated.**

 **Here goes…**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY CHARACTERS AND REFERENCES USED IN THIS STORY BELONG TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

 _J'ai ton amour et je veux ton revenge, j'ai ton amour, I don't wanna be friends_

 _I want your love, and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance_

 **CHAPTER 1**

 **New Beginnings**

District 12 had been raised from the ashes. The wealth of the Capitol had been redistributed throughout each of the districts, and where there was nothing but the dust of the dead stands homes and shops, filled with people. A whole new community rebuilt from scratch. It doesn't have quite the same old feel, but it's at least something, resurrected against all odds. When I had seen the state of nothing it had been reduced to by the bombs, I would never have thought it would once again become a thriving place. My home in the old Victor's Village was one of the only buildings that remained and I still live here. It would have been too hard for me to return alone to where my old home was. That place is too full of poignant memories. My mother, from whom I must get my emotional cowardice from, true to form, had bailed on me for the second time. District 2 was her new home, where she worked in a hospital from what she told me in one of her only two letters since she left just after the rebellion ended two years ago. She has never visited me and I have never been able to leave District 12. I have accepted that I will probably never see her again.

I was the Mockingjay, burning brightly as a beacon of hope and a symbol of defiance, who had been instrumental in bringing down the Capitol and its regime. Yet for someone who had been in such an epic battle, I had been left physically perfect. When the Capitol fell and had been reclaimed, I was taken back to hospital there and my every burn and scar was removed from me by the best doctors Panem had to offer. I have checked and checked my body so many times since, and I can find no trace of a scar. Once I had taken a knife and cut at my wrist, wanting to know if I was even real. I had watched the blood pour out until I passed out. I was found by Peeta and taken to hospital, and this is now the only visible scar I have. I wasn't trying to die, or at least I don't think I was. Sometimes I want to, but I can't leave Peeta. He needs me. I run my finger along it. I like this scar more than my entire perfect body. It made me feel human. How was it even fair that it was all the people I cared about who had suffered but I was untouched and undamaged? What no doctor could fix was the emotional mess I had become. All the pain I had had to endure, culminating in the death of my sister, had taken its toll on me. I would be 21 soon but mentally I had aged my entire life in those 20 years.

It has been exactly four years since the day that changed my life. Since my sister's name was pulled out of the reaping bowl and I had volunteered to take her place. Even though there is no reaping anymore, I panic – reliving that moment once more in my mind. I see Prim's innocent face bravely walking forward, and the way she tried to tuck in the back of shirt into her skirt as I had always had to remind her. I feel the cutting stab that always accompanies any thoughts of my sister and her face that I will never see again.

Peeta Mellark and I spend most days together. He lives next door to me. He has no family or friends left from the past. I am the only one he has. We offer each other companionship. Sometimes he stays at my house, usually just long enough to allow me to fall asleep. The nightmares that used to haunt me have faded, but not disappeared. There are still some nights that I wake screaming, convinced I am back in that arena watching Rue die, or that Peeta is a rabid mutt trying to kill me. The worst nightmares I have are about watching Prim burn.

My mind is dark, too dark for me to see clearly. I cannot let Peeta know what he means to me. Sometimes I cannot even stand to look at him because I know what he has gone through because of me. He is still the Peeta who went to the games with me, but his innocence has been taken from him. Like me, he too had been cured from the tracker jacker venom that the Capitol had inserted into him to turn him against me. But I know he has as many scars as me inside. Beautiful, trusting, kind-hearted and peaceful Peeta - the boy who loves me so unconditionally deeply. He loved me enough to almost die for me so many times in so many ways. I could never be worthy of him. I was a creature incapable of returning such a pure love – the one thing the Capitol had never been able to change about him. Peeta calmed me and made life bearable. I had nothing else.

Peeta tells me I am beautiful. I believe he means it when he says it, although I don't even try and make an effort to look nice. It takes a lot of effort for me to even bother to brush my hair. I have stopped braiding it now. On the outside, physically, I could very well be the same but I am no longer that girl anymore. She died when Prim died. Why doesn't Peeta see how ugly I am? Why is he so blinded to all my many faults? I know what I am capable of and how detestable I am. He only ever sees the good in me, which I don't even know what that is. I have never cared enough to look, only question time and time again why someone so pure could want someone so tainted. I take so much from him and he continues to give abundantly without reserve.

We were the 'star crossed lovers' created by the Capitol that had become friends who had shared so much suffering together. This bound us together in a way that no one else could understand. We didn't need anyone else now. I had a brand new body but I was dead inside unless Peeta was with me. I have nothing else to live for. Peeta has never asked anything of me. He accepts my friendship and my company, however limitedly I can offer it, and he seems content with it. I am comforted by him just being here. He doesn't pressure me to return his love, but he knows who he is to me. This makes me hate myself more. He deserves to be loved by someone who can show him each and every day just how special he is. I cannot live without Peeta but I have never told him this. Peeta is 21 now. There are other girls he could be spending his time with, instead of letting precious days of his life go by with a shell of a person. I'm just not strong enough to tell him to leave. I cannot face the isolation of being abandoned by the only person in this world who I know loves me.

Like Gale abandoned me. My best friend for so many years may have been responsible for the death of my sister. Knowing this was enough to make him turn his back on District 12, and on me. I haven't seen Gale for two years. Sometimes Peeta and I see him on the news, but I can't stomach it and I have to switch myself off – something I have become an expert on doing. It hurts me to see Gale or even hear his voice. I can't breathe when I think of our last outing in the woods the day of Prim's reaping. We were just a young boy and girl from the Seam trying to feed our families. How carefree we were, so completely unaware how much our lives would soon change irrevocably. It aches so much I just can't go back there in my mind. The woods aren't surrounded by electric fencing anymore and I can go hunting whenever I like. But even that pleasure has been made a slave to my haunting memories, and I find I can never stay there longer than a few minutes. I have never been to the woods with Peeta. I know he hates it anyway. I feel Peeta tense up every time Gale is on TV and I know he wonders whether I miss him. He never asks me though and I don't speak about Gale. I can't even bring myself to say his name – not even to myself.

I do miss Gale. Painfully. More than I would care to admit to myself. I miss the way we used to laugh together. I miss the way we were two parts of one whole. Joking about the Capitol together, hunting, and just surviving and trying to make the best of what little we had in our lives. When I'm in the woods, I wish with all my heart that he would appear from the trees behind me as silently as he used to with that playful smile I used to love and we could just go back to the way it was. But then Prim's face comes to my mind and that horrible feeling seeps into me. Gale, although perhaps indirectly and unknowingly, had had a hand in her death. It was too sickening to contemplate - I have to shut my eyes when I think about it and wait for my mind to push the thought away. It was also something we both had to recognise and swallow. I still cannot accept this, nor find any peace in it. I could never have imagined that the one person I had entrusted my sister to when I had gone to the Games would be the one to end her life. Fate was cruel that way to me. I don't even know why I was surprised. The odds had never been in my favour.

Peeta works in the bakery a few streets away from our house. He brings home the most delicious cakes covered in pretty handmade patterns each day for me. I do nothing all day. I sit and wait for him to come back, lost in my own jumbled thoughts. Sometimes they are too much and my head hurts, so I go and help Peeta in the bakery. When I get too tired to concentrate, Peeta lets me wait in the back. He checks up on me every few minutes, always with his warm sunny smile that shines from those sky blue eyes. It makes me feel better. I don't speak to many people here in District 12.

People come to visit me from around the district - Greasy Sae, Haymitch, and a few others who live here. I sit and let Peeta talk. Before long the awkward monosyllabic answers I give lead inevitably to long silences in conversation, and a cue for them to leave. I can't help it. I don't want to speak. I have nothing I want to say. I just want to be alone – either alone or with Peeta. I seem to have lost my ability to make friends now. I have no friendship to offer. All my friends are either dead or gone.

This is my life now.

 **/**

'Soldier Hawthorne', calls the stern voice of my superior, Sergeant Alders. 'Is everything ready?'

'Yes, sir', I say.

We exchange salutes and he walks off. Since the fall of the Capitol, I am part of the new government which now runs Panem. Since I turned 21 a few months ago, I have recently been promoted to commanding soldier. I oversee major military outings and ensure security is of the highest standard. President Paylor will be undertaking the first annual tour of the districts. In each one, she will be making a speech in remembrance of the fallen – the ones who lost their lives during the rebellion, and the countless children who died under the Capitol's Hunger Games regime. I take pride in my new position and this will be the first time I will be in charge of such a high profile event. This is the first year that this is being done. I haven't been away from District 2 since I arrived here two years ago. I have mostly been doing internal work but now that I have been promoted, I will have a chance to get out and see how much change this new government have put in place in the surrounding areas. Although I am relishing my new responsibility and excited to see the other districts, there is one district I am dreading going back to. It's not so much the place, but more that I am nervous about seeing her - the one person who meant the most in the world to me. The girl who I know hates me more than I can hate myself, my friend who holds me responsible for the most heinous of crimes.

I remember our last conversation, the last time I saw her. I had travelled to the Capitol to see her in hospital. She had been in for months after being burnt alongside her sister in the bombings there. During that time, there were so many rumours about the Mockingjay. Some said she had died, others said she had gone mad and killed President Coin. There were some that even mulled over the possibility that she was a traitor, working alongside President Snow in secret. Those rumours were never said to my face. If they had been, I would have retaliated with my fists. Katniss was later acquitted of killing President Coin, but that never mattered to me anyway. I never thought of her as the Mockingjay. To me, she was just my Catnip.

Katniss had been in too delicate a state to be allowed visitors so I patiently waited, trying to work up the courage to face her when the time came. I practiced what I would say time and time again, but no words I could find sounded like the right ones. When she was finally allowed to see me, I held my breath and walked into the hospital room. She had looked so tiny and fragile, so sad and broken. Very unlike the fiery determined girl I had known for so long. She waited for me to speak, her eyes downcast, but it was a long time before I could trust my mouth to open.

 _'_ _Hi Catnip', I said. She didn't respond to my nickname for her. What could I say? Sorry I might be responsible for killing Prim? I had never imagined that something I had helped to create would hurt her so much more than anyone else ever had._

 _'_ _Tell me it wasn't you', she said, her voice blank. 'Please, Gale'._

 _I moved forward closer to her and tried to take her hand in mine, to try and explain. She pulled hers away before I even made contact. She didn't want me to touch her. My hands are covered in her sister's blood. I don't even have a certain answer to her question. I don't even know who dropped that bomb. I don't know if it was the one I had designed. Chances are I would never know. And neither would she._

 _'_ _I don't know, Katniss', is all I can manage to say to her. It isn't enough, she deserves to know the truth but I can't convince her one way or another when I just don't know myself. When she eventually met my eyes again, I saw not hatred or disgust or anger, just a deep hurt and betrayal._

 _'_ _Prim's gone', she said, her voice full of raw emotion, her eyes welling up. Katniss hates to cry, I know that. This knowledge coupled with the tears in her eyes sends daggers through me. I cannot bear to see the way she has been wounded. I longed to pull her into my arms and comfort her, to reassure her I was here – but we both knew I couldn't do that. I had nothing to offer that could take it all away._

 _'_ _Katniss, I'm …' I start, my voice burdened with remorse, but she doesn't give me the chance to finish._

 _'_ _Just go, Gale', she said weakly, her voice not more than a hoarse whisper. 'Just go'._

 _My heart broke at that moment, and it had never mended since. I took one last look at her and left._

I didn't just leave her, I left the District altogether. I couldn't face her again after what had happened. Fortunately I was allocated a post as far away as I could get from her. My family were allowed to come too and I made a new life here for myself. I have never forgotten her though, and she is on my mind constantly – especially when I am alone at night. There have been other girls, some I take to bed for a couple of hours - but they come and go. They aren't like her. I think of her laugh, and the last time I saw it. Seems like a lifetime ago.

I leave tomorrow. In just over a week, I will be in back in District 12. I am going back to face Katniss Everdeen.

/

My hands work quickly and expertly, drawing swirling lines on the icing. I am lost in my work. I love watching the patterns form and bringing beautiful things to life in my designs. Flowers, butterflies, birds and hearts – there are so many wonderful things to paint. I am now the sole owner of this bakery, and the only remaining member of my family. I often think of my life back then, and while mine wasn't the perfect home life, I at least had people I could call my family. Many things have changed since then.

My life now is uncomplicated. There aren't many things in it. Running the bakery takes up most of my time as I open it every day of the week. My mornings and evenings are spent with Katniss. We sit together and just do ordinary things like eat and watch TV, I tell her about my day at the bakery, let her know if anything eventful happened, or fill her in on any gossip I may have heard. She laughs when I tell her something funny and I am reassured that I make her happy for a few seconds in some small way. I love her laugh so much. As quickly as she starts laughing, she stops and I am again reminded how my affection has never really been enough for her. I spend my nights in my home alone and these are at times the worst moments for me. I am revisited by nightmares and have no one to hold me. I don't tell Katniss, she has enough going on in her own mind. Katniss and I have never spent a night together since we came back here. Sometimes I stay with her until she falls asleep but never until she wakes. We kiss sometimes too. Not as much as I would like to, but I don't complain.

Still, she remains the dearest person in my life now, more precious to me than life itself. She is the girl I love. The girl I have always loved from the moment I saw her, and will always love until the day I die. I feel her sadness every time I am near her, but I also feel it ebb away slowly when I hold her. When I kiss her, I feel myself draining all that pain from her and absorbing it into me. As soon as my arms let her go, I watch as it all seeps back into her face. Those grey eyes which burned with passion start to lose their colour, as if a light inside her has gone out and she isn't really here at all. I try so hard to bring her back so I can keep her with me. I love her. I know she cares about me, deeply. She saved my life, and she stood by me. She loves me in her own way. Yet her love is such a complex one. We are bound together through our experience, and through a connection that no one can understand.

When I kiss her, although her lips are on mine, I do not feel her return my kiss. The hands that tended to my wounds and protected me do not grip mine as tightly when I hold them in mine. Something holds her back and doesn't allow her to let herself go. She cannot dare to feel the pleasure that comes with sharing love. I know she feels she doesn't deserve it and I endeavour to make her see the good things about her which I love. She is fiercely loyal, brave, spirited, caring and loving. She would do anything to protect me, and she always has. She is amazing. This is why I love her, but I hardly ever get to see that girl anymore. She has locked herself away – not just from me but from everyone. She refuses to like anything about herself. I know the real her so well but sometimes, she could be someone I just don't know at all. She has played so many different roles in my life - my friend, my lover, my protector, my partner, my enemy and now my love. She makes me complete.

We live next door to one another but her mind has put many oceans between us. Her heart is closed, hidden behind walls so tall and thick that even the force of my love which I tirelessly shower her in cannot break them down. I know it is because she has been hurt so many times, endured agonies too painful for someone so young and seen horrors far beyond anybody's worst nightmares. She blames herself for everything that happened, and most of all, she blames herself for what happened to me. I see it in her eyes. Her sister's death only compounded her self-loathing and lack of joy or interest in life. I don't know how to take that away so I just concentrate on giving her the small moments of joy that I can. I will never leave her. I can't. She has ingrained herself into my mind, my life, my heart and my soul. She did that the moment I first laid eyes on her.

The president's speech which is taking place next week in the rebuilt Square will be tough for her, just as each and every reminder of the people we have known and lost is. Not that we need reminding, those faces will haunt us for the rest of our lives. Most people will attend, as she was the Mockingjay. Most people credit her with the fall of the Capitol and hold her in high regard – she is the reason we all enjoy the freedom we have now. She has been forgiven by everyone for the death of President Coin, her mental state deemed far too unstable and tortured to have been able to be thinking soundly when she fired that arrow. Katniss is guest of honour, and her attendance is obligatory. I am her rock and her light, and as always - my place at her side is also compulsory. I am the only person she trusts and I will never let her down.

 **/To be continued...**

 **Thanks for reading. All comments and reviews welcome :)**


	2. Ghosts

**CHAPTER 2**

 **Ghosts**

 _Prim was my sister._

I stare down at the words I had written on the piece of paper for the tenth time. Each time I had written the sentence prior I had scribbled it out – always the same sentence. It is meant to be my opening line but once more I cross through it. I have exactly a week in which to write this speech before I have to say it before a crowd of thousands and more. It will be broadcast live all over Panem. I cannot screw it up. Although I should be used to my words and actions being seen in every corner of Panem from my time in the games to my time as Mockingjay, I am not a good speaker. Even on a one to one basis, words do not come easily to me. I don't even want to be there, dredging up each and every bad memory from the last few years. There are things I don't allow myself to think about. The only word I can write is my sister's name. I have no desire to be guest of honour. There is nothing honourable about me. I am just Katniss. A girl whose mistakes cost almost everyone I knew their lives. Why would I want to be reminded of that, when it is the only thing I see when I look at my own reflection?

I had been to the woods earlier today, hoping some of its previous sanctuary would enable me to gather my thoughts and perhaps be able to bring to mind something to put down. I had sat by a tree, pen and paper in hand, willing the words to come to me. Nothing had been forthcoming. Instead, the only image I could conjure whilst inhaling the fragrance of the flowers, the wood of the trees and the dewy grassy floor was of the only person who could truly appreciate its beauty. Yes I always lost myself to Gale's memory when I came here. Battling the onslaught to my fragile mind and keen to try and distract myself, I had taken out my old bow and arrows for the first time in months, which I had left hidden in their usual spot and tried to shoot. My aim wasn't the same as it was before and I watched despairingly as my hands shook as I raised my bow, missing most targets by a fraction. I had always prided myself on being such a capable hunter. Now it seemed my own talent had deserted me. I hadn't hunted since I had come back to District 12 but aren't these things meant to stay with you? I had never spent long enough in the woods to try. Hunting only reminded me of the days gone by, with my partner by my side, and those reminders were too painful to bear. Now it just didn't hold the same feeling. Frustrated, I had returned home and managed only four words in the protracted couple of hours since.

I am taken away from the task at hand when I hear a knock on the door. My heart leaps momentarily as I glance at the clock. On seeing the time I know it must be Peeta.

'Hi', he says when I open up. He places a tender kiss on my cheek. I greet him with my usual smile and allow him in. He takes off his boots and follows me into the lounge. As he comes in, I am surrounded with the fragrant aroma of cinnamon and I know he has brought something back for me, just as he always did. Sure enough he places a small white box on the living room table.

'Cinnamon buns', he says grinning, 'Do you want one now?'

I shake my head no.

'Good day?' I ask politely.

'Nothing out of the ordinary', he says, 'What have you been up to?'

'I've been trying to write my speech', I tell him.

He nods encouragingly and sits beside me. 'Can I see it?'

I pass him the notepad and his eyebrows crease when he sees all I have managed. 'Finding it hard, eh?'

I am glad Peeta is here. He always knows what to say. But Peeta wasn't the Mockingjay, I was. It has to be my words. Peeta's words and mine are as different as chalk and cheese. He could easily write me a speech but I am convinced that within a few sentences, everyone will know that they are not my words.

'I just don't know what to say, Peeta', I explain.

He studies the notepad for a few seconds. 'Why don't you just keep it simple? Try and write down what you feel?' he suggests.

That was a lot easier said than done. Every emotion associated with anything that had happened from my time in the games until my return to District 12 was painful - too painful that I had pushed it so far deep inside me to be able to retrieve it now. Even the happier memories were too bittersweet to revisit. I don't know why I thought I could get anything down in writing.

'You've started with Prim. Just talk about how you remember her', Peeta said. I can't think of Prim without physically aching so that will be almost impossible.

'They'll be expecting me to sing the praises of the new government', I say warily, 'But Peeta I just can't', I say. As many benefits as the new regime had brought to Panem, those advantages had come at a cost. The price I had paid I would go on paying until the day I die. Rebelling against the Capitol had taken so much away from me and contributing even a word of praise on it would be entirely forced. I acknowledged what they were trying to do was for the best, and the obliteration of the games was what I had wanted. But the deep-rooted damage being part of the uprising had caused me was already done.

'I know it's going to be hard for you', he said understandingly, 'Just do your best. I'll be right there with you'.

That was the only thing reassuring me. Knowing Peeta would be there. Just as he always is. Ready to take me in his arms and hold me, protect me from the world. I decide to give up with writing anything and take his hand.

'Thank you', I whisper appreciatively. He smiles at me and his blue eyes reflect the love he has for me. The love I am unable to reciprocate. The blackness in my heart darkens and I retreat to the furthest corner of the couch from him.

Peeta and I sit together on opposite ends of the sofa as I eat my cinnamon bun. They're divine, as are all the cakes Peeta brings back from the bakery. They offer a small slice of pleasure in my barren world and I am grateful to him. We both watch the small television and wait for the first of the live broadcasts covering the tour to start. Today will be the first one as the tour starts at the Capitol. The President will give two speeches every day in two separate districts, culminating here in District 12 in just under a week's time with me as guest of honour. I see the Capitol on my screen as it is now. All the old colourful buildings which were not affected by any bombings during the rebellion have been kept and joined by new ones. They are not as colourful but somehow they seem to fit. President Paylor will be speaking in front of a crowd at the large arena which had been especially built for political and other major events a few yards away from where President Snow's mansion still stands occupied by President Paylor now. The stage is large and painted a crimson red, highlighted from above by giant lights which beam onto it. A long table and at least twenty chairs have been set up and a tall microphone stands on the platform before which the President will speak. Behind the platform are three large screens strategically places at either side and directly behind the table. A packed crowd has already gathered and the camera pans into them. Apart from the slightly dressed down citizens, it's almost the Capitol of old. All that is missing is President Snow standing before them. At the thought of him, my blood runs cold and a chill goes down my spine. He had been dead a while now but still has the capacity to make my blood turn to ice. The citizens of the Capitol have got used to life under the new regime quickly – not that they had much choice. The new government had set up base at the Capitol and run as tight a ship as President Snow had been. Only there were no hunger games. There were some pockets of people mostly from the Capitol and Districts 1 and 2 who were opposed to the new government but there weren't enough of them to pose any considerable threat to President Paylor's new rule. Traitors to the cause were tried publicly by military court and mostly imprisoned in District 4 where a series of high security prisons had been built specifically for that purpose.

President Paylor, the mayor of the Capitol and a few other guests are due on stage in less than fifteen minutes. During the gap, the broadcast has started showing recorded interviews with various citizens and political figures, all backing the occasion and giving words of support to the President and in remembrance of the fallen.

'It hasn't changed much', I mumble out loud.

'Still garish dress sense', Peeta agrees. I laugh.

'Yes, I can't ever see that changing', I say.

'I don't know how they still think it's a good look', Peeta states, 'It seems a little too dramatic for the less than exciting life they must live now'.

He was right. Since the fall of President Snow, the Capitol citizens had had to work for a living. New factories and shops had been opened, where they manufactured many different items from clothes, shoes, perfumes and delicate dishes for distribution between themselves and all over the remaining districts. Gone were the days when everything was imported there. Now with children to feed and no entertainment, work had quickly become a way of life.

I suddenly sense Peeta tense up beside me and as the sound of that voice comes from the television, my eyes are drawn up to meet a sea of burning grey. I feel his eyes penetrating all the walls I have painstakingly put up between us, finding that solitary crack with the precision of a hunter's arrow to reach a place somewhere so far inside me I never knew existed. I am overcome with the pure intensity of my own reaction and I shakily place my cake back onto the plate, somehow unable to tear my eyes away from his. My mind cannot process what he is saying but there on camera, speaking as though he is only directly addressing me, is Gale.

/

 _'This is meant to be an opportunity for all of us as a nation to remember all the people who lost their lives in order for us to have the freedom we have now. This will be an annual event and the President fully expects each and every one of us to take part in showing our respect for the fallen. I have been given the honour of travelling alongside the President on this landmark tour, and as with all such engagements, it is imperative that the safety of our President is priority…'_

He lips continue to move but I have stopped listening now. The most prominent thought in my mind as I watch him speak, as it has been many times before, is that he is undeniably striking. I can concede somewhat grudgingly that he is attractive in the physical sense. It is easy to see why a girl could fall for him. Thick, dark hair, chiselled masculine jaw, deep dangerous grey eyes, full lips and that tall, muscular physique – he is handsome in every sense. Obviously a soldier, he is dressed all in black in the military uniform of the higher ranked, indicating that he is someone with an important responsibility. There is some part of his looks that reminds me of her – same colour eyes, olive complexion and dark hair. He has always been attractive but this thought irks me, not because he's good looking - it's more about what he has always been to Katniss. They have never had a romantic history from what I know, but I can never look at him in any other way than as her ex-lover. I had come along and interrupted their friendship unintentionally.

I catch the pained look that seizes her face briefly, although I wish I didn't. It hurts me more to see it than anything I can imagine. I reach over and take the remote from the table before I flick the channel over. Her eyes stay on the screen for a second longer before her lashes lower and her attention returns to the cake lying half eaten in her lap. She has clutched the sides of her plate and I can see how tightly she is holding onto it from the whites of her fingers. My heart aches from feeling the pain she is radiating and I am powerless to stop it. I do not know what goes through her mind when she sees his face. When she looks up at me again, she doesn't smile and her face is a blank canvas. But somewhere inside her eyes, behind that vacant stare, I can see that pain. The pain she never speaks about. The pain she feels over him. She is being torn apart inside. She always makes me turn the channel over when he comes on, but a part of her resents me for doing so. This is the constant challenge I face with Katniss. She has never said his name from the time he left but I feel as though it is the only name that she wants to call. I always hear it as it lingers on the tip of her tongue in a forbidden whisper, penetrating the air and deafening me. I detect the slight, almost unnoticeable quiver of her lower lip every time his face appears or his voice resonates from the television. He isn't here but I can still feel him everywhere around us. Sometimes when I hold her, I can't help but think that his body is between us. She will never admit it or say it out loud, not even to the privacy of her own thoughts I'm sure, but I am aware that she aches for him. She holds him responsible for killing her sister but whether she knows it or not, she yearns to forgive him. She longs to be able to forgive him not just for Prim, but for doing what was completely unthinkable and unacceptable to her – leaving.

I am jealous of him, yes, and I am not comfortable with this jealousy but above and beyond that, I resent him deeply with every part of me. I always will. I resent him because when she desperately needed answers, answers she had craved to questions which had resonated long after he had gone, he had none to give her. This had hindered her ability to heal internally. He is the reason she couldn't give herself completely to me back then. I turn away from her as I always do when we face this predicament, unable to stand neither the force of her emotions which force me back away from her like a wall, or my own inept ability to accept them. He is part of the invisible barrier that prevents my love from ever truly reaching her and I don't know how I can ever defeat that. How do I vanquish a ghost? I have loved her from the innermost depths of my soul, yet still that love is rendered futile and weak in comparison to a friendship that ran so deep between them that neither of them ever comprehended it until it was too late. I have no words to offer her that will lessen the pain and so I sit quietly, watching images that don't register and we eat silently. From what I could gage from his words, it seems he will be returning to District 12 with the President and inevitably I am filled with dread at having to stand by and watch while she is haunted and tortured by those conflicting emotions over him once more. Does she even realise that he is coming back? I don't think she has heard a word he was saying. He is the one subject I can never broach with her. I don't even know whether I am strong enough to try. All I know is that I will not let him hurt her any more than he already has. No matter what it takes.


	3. Fire

**CHAPTER 3**

 **Fire**

Each day passes faster than the next, and I am still no closer to figuring out what it is exactly that I should say. I have made no other attempts to write anything down as I have quickly realised that this is a futile exercise. Peeta has carefully watched some of the other live broadcasts with me since the night I saw Gale, but he has made no other appearance and I am relieved inside. I have one final night to think about things but I don't hold out much hope of anything being different in the morning. Peeta hasn't spoken to me about the tour, but I know that he is deliberately trying for my sake not to bring up Gale. I smile at Peeta who sits on the edge of my bed. He knows that I will have trouble sleeping tonight and has offered to stay with me until I am asleep, and I have selfishly allowed him to. My need tonight is too great. I feel my past all around me and the haunting images from the years gone by are closing in on me. When I feel Peeta's hand in mine, and the comforting way he strokes my hair when my eyes are closed, I have a shield around me through which nothing bad can penetrate.

/

This tour so far has gone well. I can be proud of the way that there hasn't been a security hitch from the Capitol right to District 11. I have exceeded all expectations so far and the President herself has praised me personally for my work. I have one final test tonight which promises to be the hardest. Not just because this is the home of the infamous Mockingjay, but because I am coming back to face my past for one evening.

As District 12 nears, I smell home. I know I'm there before the tall trees come into view. I watch from the window as they come nearer and the train rolls in slowly, gradually coming to a halt at the station. The ride over here from District 11 hasn't taken very long as these old Capitol trains had been built to travel fast. I don't think I've been on this train as long as an hour, which is supposedly the journey time. I pick up my small bag and head to the door with my three other colleagues. I take a moment to compose myself before I exit onto the platform. I feel a wave of nostalgia crash over me as I set foot onto the ground of District 12 for the first time in two years. I don't know what I was expecting to feel but whatever it was, this feeling surpasses it in volumes. I have missed my home more than I knew.

'Soldier Hawthorne'

I am greeted by a short man dressed in a grey uniform who extends his hand to me, 'Welcome to District 12. I am Commander Shanks. I shall show you to your quarters'.

I shake his hand and thank him, before I and my colleagues follow him outside. The station is exactly the same as I remember it, and so are the streets outside. Not that I ever had much opportunity to visit the station before. That same air with the slight mixed smell of bark and coal fills my nose and I feel that longing which has never died to be in the woods rise inside me painfully.

'You'll be based approximately a mile away from the old Victor's Village', says Commander Shanks, 'Once we arrive, you'll be briefed. The President is due to arrive at seven sharp'.

'Yes, sir', I say.

We walk for a good twenty minutes before finally coming to a stop outside a large building which has been turned into an army base. It is occupied by soldiers usually based in District 12 who oversee the daily running of things. We enter and I am taken straight in to see the head of operations here. He is an elderly man with silvery white hair. He regards me sternly as I stand before him. He doesn't introduce himself but I see from the plaque on his desk that his name is Sergeant Omery.

'Soldier Hawthorne, your job tonight will be slightly different than it has been in the other districts. The President will be flanked by enough guards here so you will be required for something just as important'.

'Yes sir'. I await his instructions.

'You will be responsible for providing security for tonight's guest of honour, Miss. Everdeen'.

I have to fight so hard to retain my poise as his words echo in my ears. I cannot reject this command and say no, as this is my profession and I must behave accordingly.

'Your first job will be to go personally to see Miss. Everdeen and ensure that she is fully aware of tonight's schedule. She will be making her speech just before the President so her security should be paramount', he continues.

I nod.

'You will personally escort Miss. Everdeen to and from the venue with as little disruption as possible to proceedings. You will also be accompanied by Soldier Hayes who will be under your supervision'.

'Yes, sir', I manage.

'On a personal note, I understand you were once friends with Miss. Everdeen, is that correct?'

'Yes, sir'.

'Good. So there won't be any problems, Soldier Hawthorne?'

'No, sir', I promise.

When I am given leave and get to my room, I find I have to sit down quickly as my legs don't feel as though they can hold my weight. I go over to the faucet and splash water across my face. My stomach has twisted into so many knots that I can't imagine how they will ever come undone. I wonder how she will take this. Maybe she will spare me and request someone else to look after her. Without doubt, this will be the hardest task I have had since I joined this cause. I would rather throw myself into heavy combat than face the task I have been given tonight. I have just enough time to shower and change before it is time to leave for the Victor's Village where I am told she lives. I steady my nerves and head out.

/

I am panicking. It is almost five and there are only three hours before I am due on that stage in front of thousands. Peeta has helped me to choose a dress, selecting a plain satin black one which I think makes me look older than I am. It has thin straps for sleeves and stops just at my knees. I don't want to appear too dressy but Peeta has assured me that his holds just the right level of class and modesty for me. I have swept my hair to one side and it is held in place by a shimmering silver pin. On my feet I wear black satin matching pumps. I have a huge wardrobe but I have never worn anything in it. This is the first _occasion_ that I have had to attend since my Mockingjay days. I tend to avoid any public events. Most days I lounge around in my most casual clothes and don't care much for all the dresses sent to me from the Capitol. As I look at myself in the mirror, I can't help but think of my dear friend, Cinna. How he would have loved to be here to dress me up. He would have made me look beautiful, just as he always had. Cinna makes me think of flames. Flames make me think of my sister – such is my trail of thoughts now that any happy memory will almost inevitably lead to a sad one. My heart tightens and I close my eyes a second to gather myself.

'You look beautiful', says Peeta and I see him at the doorway through the reflection in my mirror. I smile at him and turn around.

'Thank you', I say.

He comes towards me and holds my hand, before twirling me around once. He looks smart too, dressed in a white shirt with black trousers. I didn't think he should wear the black suit jacket earlier but now I think it would go perfectly. I tell him so.

'You'll be fine, Katniss', he says, reassuringly squeezing my hand as he senses my building nerves. I wish I could believe him. I am so daunted by my task that all I have managed to eat today is a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. Peeta takes me downstairs to sit in the lounge to wait while he goes back upstairs to retrieve the jacket. He has explained to me that we will be sent someone to escort us and according to the time, they should be here any moment now. It seems weird that the moment I think that, there is a knock on my door. It takes me a moment before I get off the couch to my feet. I can't hear Peeta coming back down so I have no choice but to get the door.

As soon as I have pulled the door open, a loud gasp comes from me and I feel the world spinning around me. I am looking into the same grey eyes I saw a few nights ago. I am gripping the door handle so tightly it is digging into me but I don't feel any pain. I feel a force so strong emanating from him to me that I am powerless to turn away. My heart seems to swell with pride somewhere as I manage to register his black uniform. He looks so handsome and smart. He's done well for a boy from the Seam. He doesn't smile and I can't quite read his expression but I see his lips move. Then a memory flashes in front of me in a nanosecond.

 _'_ _Why would you always take his side?' I say, pretending to be cross._

 _'_ _You're just grumpy and miserable all the time', says Prim's ten year old voice. 'Gale says if anyone teases me, he'll poke their eyes out'. She giggles._

 _'_ _Does he now?'_

 _'_ _Yes, and he says since dad isn't around, he's like my big brother. He'll always protect me', she says._

 _'_ _Did he tell you that?' I ask._

 _'_ _Aha. Gale says even when you're mad at me, he'll always be there'._

 _Gale appears at the doorway. 'Are you telling Katniss all our secrets?' he asks Prim playfully._

 _'_ _No!' she exclaims, and I hear her squeal with delight as Gale picks her up and swings her around._

This memory drags itself like a shard of glass through my heart. _You_ were meant to protect her, I silently scream inside. _You_ killed her. A million different images flash before me in succession. Prim, Gale, fire, death. I slam the door and lean against it, my heart thundering in my chest. I am struggling to breathe and I can still feel that magnetic force through the wood of the door, pulling me.

'Katniss' calls Peeta's voice, as he rushes to me. I am sitting on the floor now, no muscle in my body is able to move and I can only hear the rush of blood pounding through my ears, 'What is it?'

Peeta takes me in his strong comforting arms and manages to get me into the living room before the door knocks again. Peeta looks at me but I still can't speak. He tells me to wait and goes to answer the door. I want to tell him not to but I can't get the words out.

As soon as I open the door, I know exactly what has happened to Katniss. I too feel some sort of shock, but more than shock I feel anger. Is this some sort of joke? Of everyone they could send here, why him? My feelings are reflected in my expression as I come face to face with him.

'Mellark', he acknowledges coolly with a curt nod, those grey eyes studying me intently. I see from a momentary narrowing of his eyes that he wasn't expecting to see me here.

'Hawthorne', I reply meeting his stare. He looks away first.

'This is Soldier Hayes' he says gesturing to the other man standing next to him. I hadn't even noticed him until now. 'We're here to escort Miss. Everdeen tonight'.

I don't even pick up any trace of recognition in him as he says her name. His grey eyes have become as blank as Katniss' are.

'Come in', I say.

He nods again and they follow me through to the lounge. I go to Katniss' side immediately as she stands when they enter. Her body is rigid and I know she is fighting every fragment of emotion going through her. She avoids looking at him and I can feel her body tremble beside mine. I hold her hand and she clasps mine back so tight. I remember when she last held my hand so tightly – in the chariots before the first hunger games. I still remember just how radiant she had looked, bathed in flames, fierce and beautiful.

'Miss. Everdeen', he says addressing her directly. I can tell from his voice that he is struggling to keep that indifferent exterior in front of her, 'I'm here as your security and escort for tonight's event. Do you have any questions?'

Finally, she lifts her eyes to meet his and instead of her usual uninterested blank stare, there is something else I see in her eyes. It burns bright, furiously and dangerously. For the first time in years, I see something which makes her look alive. I see fire.

/

 _ **Thanks for reading :)**_


	4. Target

**CHAPTER 4**

 **Target**

He seems taller than I remember and even more handsome, but apart from the clothes he wears, he is just the same boy that I knew. He is strong and capable, every inch resembling a soldier here to protect. I have to remind myself as the see the gun at his side exactly what he is prepared to do for the cause he believed in. As he stands before me, he doesn't look as out of place in my living room as I might have imagined. It could be just a normal day back in my old home in the Seam when he would come and visit sometimes. We would sit together and mess about with Prim or he would have a long chat with my mother. He wears a strange expression which I have never seen before. I find I want to know whether he is thinking about the same things I am, or whether his mind has completely blanked me out, but I am unable to tell. It's not the fact that it reminds me of President Snow when he calls me Miss. Everdeen that upsets me, it's more the fact that his formality is his way of keeping a distance between us when there was once never anything that could do that. He doesn't look away from me, instead his grey stare that I remember only too well washes over me and I find that although I am fully clothed, I feel bare and exposed in front of him. I am at a loss to understand or control my own sentiments as I face him. I sense Peeta watching me and I fight hard not to let any of my own disarrayed emotions show. It somehow seems wrong to have Peeta here to witness this moment, a moment I never believed I would have to face. It is Prim's face that I remind myself of as I regard him and I feel that darkness envelop me which comes from knowing that he is responsible for taking her away from me. I will never see her smile again because of the man I used to call my friend. I want to scream at him but for some reason completely unknown to me, I am continually compelled to look at him and I can't turn away. I want to touch him, to see if he is real and the ache I suddenly feel because I can't angers me. He is less than two feet away from me but he may as well be on the other side of the world. He asks me if I have any questions and my eyes reply that I only have one that needs answering. I have asked it of him countless times in my dreams without an answer and I am tired of repeating myself. In reality I have only ever asked it of him once. I shake my head but he knows that I am asking for the second time the only question I need him to answer. The same question that he still has no answer for.

/

Katniss is even more beautiful now than she has ever been, her allure tinged with an air of vulnerability and a fragility which pulls at my every instinct to protect her. I had always tried to protect her from the moment we met. It was I who used to warn off any boy who even cast their eyes in her direction. Old habits die hard. I am seized with the urge to rush to her side and put my arms around her, shelter her from the world and erase all the pain I can feel radiating from her. Underneath the attire which makes me think it has been designed for someone older, she still looks more like a girl than a woman. Even though I have seen her in a dress before, when she was being paraded all over the Capitol with Mellark and televised in every district, this is the first time I have seen it in the flesh. I have always pictured her in her normal hunting clothes, the way she was when we used to hunt together. In the fitted black dress she wears, she doesn't quite seem like my Katniss – the girl from the Seam. I try to gage her reaction to me after the visible shock she displayed on first seeing me, but her face gives nothing away. It's only when I look deep into the same grey eyes as mine that I see her anger, alongside a deep rooted hurt and betrayal that I am certain will never go away. To think I had misguidedly held out a shell of hope that her accusation against me had subsided or that she may be a little closer to forgiving me. If anything, it seems to be even stronger than when it was in the hospital that day. The way she is looking at me makes me feel as though I have continued to damage her every single day since, over and over again.

From the outside, she still looks like the same sixteen year old Katniss that I said goodbye to before she was sent into that arena. She came back the same Katniss, but I knew something was missing between us which we never had the chance to find again. Even though she was still my friend then, things didn't feel the same way between us any longer. Too much had happened. She bore the scars of survival and the burden of his love on her shoulders. The obligation to that love which followed only served to make the distance between us wider.

I hear my heartbeat crashing against my chest, as it has been doing from the moment I lay eyes on her. I can only hope that none of them can see just how much I am affected by her presence. To try and clear my mind, I look around the living room. There are three paintings hanging on the wall - one of flowers, one of birds in the sky and another of a beach overlooking an ocean. They are so realistic and scenic, and I know that they could only have been painted by Mellark. I find myself envious of his talent and that even her home contains a part of him. On the table by which I stand, there are two cups half full with water side by side and I have an image of the both of them sitting here, him painting while she watches, drinking from these cups. He takes her hand in his and I see him whisper close to her ear. This doesn't seem a deliberate act for my benefit. Their closeness is natural and unforced and I know that he cares about her. I am grudgingly grateful to him. With every day that I was away from her, I could be reassured that she wasn't here alone with nobody to look out for her. At least he has been by her side. But that should have been my responsibility I think bitterly. I set my jaw and force myself to stand straighter.

'We leave in fifteen minutes, Miss. Everdeen, and expect to be seated in time for your speech at 6.30', I say to her, 'At eight after the event finishes, Hayes and I will escort you back home'.

'There's no need for that', I hear Mellark protest. 'I'll take Katniss back home'.

'I'm under orders', I reply brusquely, my eyes resting on their entwined hands. He doesn't pursue the point, and my body tenses as he puts an arm around Katniss, who turns her attention to him now. I feel hollow watching their evident closeness, awash with the memory of what I once was to her. How we would be closer than that, together forever. Or so I thought. Mellark asks us to have a seat and offers us a glass of water. I take the offer of a seat but refuse the water, and the remaining minutes are spent in an unbearably tense atmosphere which suffocates me. I stop looking at her but I see that she has sat down on the sofa with her body turned away from me, which prevents her from looking my way again. Her rejection hurts me but I have no choice but to sit and wait, feeling as though I am invading their space and full of regret for what we once shared.

/

The journey to the old Justice Building is made by the four of us in complete silence. Gale doesn't speak to us directly and we are directed by Soldier Hayes. We arrive there early and have a few more minutes to spare before the first speech. The large crowd had already assembled outside. Most of the people were stood in the centre but at the very front of the stage were a few rows with seats. We are shepherded carefully down one of the two side alleys which are barricaded and manned by soldiers.

I am confused by the amount of security that I see here. Surely there isn't that much of a threat to either the President or myself to merit all this fuss. Am I in danger? Is Peeta? I open my mouth to ask Gale, but instantly close it again as the realisation that we no longer speak hits me. Even all this time after, my instincts still behave as though we are the same as before. It takes a second before my mind has to remind me of what has come to pass, and then the memory of my sister shuts me down again. We reach the side steps leading onto the platform and Gale turned to Peeta.

'You'll have to take a seat there, Mellark', he said, indicating to the very front row which had a few empty seats, 'Only guests are allowed onto the main platform'.

'I have to stay with her', Peeta said resiliently.

'I can't breach security by allowing you on that stage', Gale counters obstinately.

'She won't be able to stay up there alone', I hear Peeta persist.

Gale looks at me for a moment. I see him assessing me, his face appearing worried and I know he is wondering just how fragile I could possibly be. He sighs.

'With all due respect, Mellark, we have been assigned the task of protecting only Miss. Everdeen. I can't be responsible for your security too. I also know from personal experience that you have a tendency for, let's say, unstable tendencies. I can't take that risk letting you up there. It's protocol', Gale explains patiently.

Peeta bristles at his words. Gale mustn't know that Peeta had been completely cured of the poison that the Capitol had inserted into him from tracker jackers, and he had returned to normal without any relapse. Why would he know? No one was interested in Peeta anymore. They never really were. All I know is that Peeta posed no security threat whatsoever. It wasn't likely that he would try and kill the President, or anyone else for that matter. Peeta wasn't and never had been a killer. _A killer like Gale._

'With all due respect, Hawthorne, if you had been briefed properly, you would know that I have completely recovered from all that', Peeta said equally calmly, keeping his stature.

Gale eyed him evenly as if trying to decide whether he was telling the truth. 'I still can't let you go up there. You'll have to wait for Miss. Everdeen here'.

I can't get on that stage without having Peeta beside me, it's impossible. Why is Gale stopping him? What is the big deal and why does he seem to be doing everything in his power now to keep the one good thing in my life away from me? I clench my fists and press them up against the side of my rigid body before turning on Gale. I feel my irritation provoked and the venom in my voice takes everyone including myself by complete surprise.

'If Peeta isn't allowed up there with me, then you can forget it. I'll go back home and the hell with your protocol!' I say forcefully.

Gale looks at me and he knows from the determination in my eyes that I am stubborn enough to do exactly what I have said I will. He weighs this up in his mind before he speaks discreetly with Hayes, who nods silently before speaking into a well hidden earpiece. I don't hear what is being said but after a minute or so, Hayes leans in towards Gale and says something in his ear.

'OK, Mellark - I'll clear you. But you don't move without informing me first. Do you understand?'

Gale doesn't wait for a response before he starts to climb the stairs onto the platform.

'Follow me', he says briskly. I start to climb up onto the platform and Peeta follows behind me. The last step before I enter the platform is slightly higher than the others. A hand reaches down and offers to help me up. Instinctively I reach up and take it. It is only when I feel such a powerful surge go through me that I realise it is his hand that I am holding. His fingers are strong around mine and I get the feeling that he will never let go. I don't want him to let go. I seem to stop where I am, once more incompetent to move my body. The noise around me is drowned out. I want to take my hand away from his but it's as though we are two parts of a magnet, drawn to one another and unable to separate. This is the first time I have felt his touch in years and the yearning feeling inside me unsettles me. I feel something deep within me start to uncoil and my fingers tighten against my will around his. He reaches the very core of me as he catches my eye for a fraction of a second. In that one moment it feels as though he is inside me. Gale has become part of my body and my mind, and he feels everything that I am feeling. We are communicating on a level that requires no speech or action. I have never felt this before and I feel invaded somehow, like my body isn't mine – it belongs to Gale, almost like an extension of him. Then I am moving up and I realise that he is pulling me up. As soon as I am on the platform, he lets go and offers his hand to Peeta. I get a hollow feeling as soon as his skin has left mine. I feel slightly embarrassed and my cheeks burn as I stand by and wait for Peeta to climb up. My breathing is unsteady and stricken, but it has nothing to do with my worry about speaking to thousands. What on earth is wrong with me? Gale doesn't look at me and I occupy myself with fidgeting with my nails. We are shown to our seats at the large table in a similar set up to the one I saw on the Capitol stage for the first broadcast. Peeta takes the seat on my left and Gale takes the one immediately to my right. Peeta's hand reassuringly squeezes mine but I don't know when he took it, and I don't feel the warmth of it. My skin burns with an unexpected sensation that Gale's touch has left behind. He sits beside me and I notice that he positions his chair so it restricts him from coming into any physical contact with me. He sits up straight and speaks into his earpiece. My eyes are drawn to his profile and I can't help but think of how attractive he is. I watch the prominent vein in his neck move as he swallows, and I have to bite down on my lip to stop myself from reaching out to touch him. My eyes are drawn to his lips and I think how much I want to hear him laugh. I find I can't sit comfortably and am overly hot, despite the cool breeze which fills the late August air.

These feelings about Gale are wrong. I feel my own guilt smothering me; guilt at my sister's memory and shame over my body's reaction. I feel unsettled at the way I am looking at my sister's killer. But he doesn't look like somebody who could kill her, he just looks like Gale. I want to stop myself but I don't know how. I am not used to being so out of control, so ready to be taken over by feelings I have never experienced and do not understand that it infuriates me. This battle going on in my mind is giving me a headache. I rub my temples hard and Peeta raises his eyebrows questioningly. I smile half-heartedly at him but I don't meet his eyes.

Gale shows no emotion at all. He sits silently beside me and waits, nodding slightly in acknowledgement at various people as the table starts filling up. I don't recognise any of them. His eyes focus solely on the crowd, scanning for any sign of danger. I feel my nerves shot to pieces as the crowd sound louder. I can't concentrate on any of the speeches made by the people who speak before me. Peeta is quiet and I know that he is listening, but every now and again, he leans in to check if I am alright and I feel his familiar comfort around me, momentarily reassured. I see the large camera focus on my face and I know that on the big screen behind me, I am being projected all around Panem. I am the centre of attention for everyone in the building, and just as I am almost beginning to feel sick, I hear the announcer's introductions reminding everyone of my past glories before finally, my name is being called.

Shakily I stand, reluctant to let go of Peeta's hand. I stare at him in a panic and he mouths at me that I will be fine with a smile. Gale stands when I do, and in one stride he is by my side. Gently he places an arm around my waist and propels me towards the speaker's platform. I find that I feel grateful for this support and I make no attempt to get away from him as he walks me slowly towards the microphone. His arm feels strangely protective around me and I am shocked to realise that I like the feeling. When I am at the small step, his arm brushes down the small of my back before he takes it away and retreats to the far side of the stage to wait for me to finish. With unsteady feet and an equally unsteady heart, I mount the step and take the microphone. I look ahead of me and see the sea of people eagerly awaiting my words. My mouth is dry and I crave water. A glass has been placed by the stand before me and I take a few sips thirstily. I halt a moment, waiting for the noise to die down before I start to speak.

'I want to say...'I start. My voice shakes and I am filled with panic. I try and breathe slowly before I start again.

'I want to say that I am thankful to President Paylor and this new government for the freedom in which we all now live. So many lives were lost for this cause. I take comfort that all of our loved ones will be looking down on us happy in the knowledge that we...that we all can continue to live in peace, and that there need not be any more unnecessary suffering'.

As I speak, I don't know where the words are coming from. My mouth is opening and the words are just coming freely from somewhere within me.

'Prim was my sister', I continue, 'An innocent girl who was... I pause, closing my eyes as her face flashes before me. I grip the stand. 'She was... _murdered_ , for nothing'. My voice has started shaking again, and I am temporarily unable to speak as tears well up in my eyes. I turn my head to the side and see Gale watching me. He averts his gaze from mine and looks down, knowing my words were directed at him. I convert my sadness to anger again, which is my speciality, and it dries up the tears. I am filled with that fury at Gale and all that he was responsible for. 'We need to ensure that that does not happen to anyone ever again. I thank you all for all your words of support and acceptance since I came back, but I want you all to know that I don't stand here before you as the Mockingjay today. I stand before you as Katniss Everdeen. I'm just an ordinary girl, one of you, who also lost people dear to me just as you all did'.

I stop again and take a deep breath, my voice stronger and more confident, 'As much as I feel comforted in the knowledge that our loved ones can see us free, I feel a deep sorrow that they aren't here to share it with us. Let's not forget them. That's all, thank you'.

My speech is received with warm applause and I remain at the stand for a moment to acknowledge it so as not to appear rude, but I feel awkward. Gale is back by my side as soon as I come off the step and we head back to our seats. I can't help but feel frustrated that he is beside me. He is the one responsible for taking Prim away and I need to hold onto that anger. It is the only emotion I want to feel for him, and the only way I can deal with his presence right now. This time I don't let him touch me and as I retake my seat and the applause continues, I bury my head into Peeta's shoulder and hide my face from the cameras and from Gale in his chest. He kisses my head and strokes my hair.

'Well done', he whispers, 'You were amazing'.

I don't feel amazing, I feel sick and hurt and furious. My thanks to this new government was meaningless. I am not grateful to them for the life that I have, I can only think of the life that I've lost and the yesterday that I will never relive. The dark cloud which covers me daily has descended and no amount of comfort from Peeta can make it shift. I am alone facing it, and I alone must find a way out before it chokes me completely.

/

From a well hidden point in some nearby trees at the back of the crowd, the young man pulled out a long range silent sniper rifle from inside his jacket. Amidst the applause, no one is paying any attention to the surrounding areas. The evening had been going as planned and the Mockingjay had just made her final speech. He placed the weapon on his shoulder and directed it at the stage, switching the focus on and zooming over to where she sat. The President was due on the stage in a matter of seconds so the time to strike was now. With a steady hand, he trained the gun onto her and released the safety.

 _Stupid bitch, we'll see how she sings again now._

With pure hatred coursing through his veins, he pressed down on the trigger once firing the shot at his target with only one intention - to kill.

/

My gaze is on the trees beyond and I long to be in the woods now, away from this and away from her and Mellark. I watch as they sway in the breeze and I can smell their fragrance calling me. As I am lost in their allure, my eyes are drawn to a small flicker of light coming from amidst one of the branches. My senses heighten and I sense danger, something isn't right. I rise from my seat intending to alert someone to go and take a look. As I stand, I realise what the light belongs to and where I have seen it before. I have been trained in most high-tech weaponry and I know that light is from a sniper rifle. I see the light rise up and I follow its direction quickly. As I turn to Katniss, I see the smallest spot of white on her black dress, almost unnoticeable to the untrained eye, right at her heart. I know I have less than a split second to act and before she has time to react, I throw myself in front of her. She gives a startled gasp as my weight slams onto her, and then the bullet enters my body. The pain is blinding and instant. It takes all my strength to look up to see if she is hurt, my hands clutching onto her shoulders. I meet the stormy grey depths of her eyes and watch her confused expression turn to horror as the weight of my limp body crumples in her arms. The last thing I hear before my eyes close and I pass out is the agonising scream which passes her lips with the one name I have ached to hear her say for an eternity. Mine.


End file.
